Telling a story

A few years ago when I was twelve years old I broke my arm. It happened the day before of our end of year trip, that’s the reason why I had to stay at home while my friends were having fun in the trip.

Everything happened when I was in my way to the cinema to hang out with my friends. As usual we took our bikes to go faster. Until here everything was ok, the problem arrived when one of my friends dared me to go down a hill as fast as I can. I accepted without doubt. I was wining when I lost the control of my bike and I fell down. The next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital with my arm in plaster cast and a bandage on my head. I also remember my mother hugging me while she was crying, but  her happiness didn’t last very much, because as soon as I started to talk she began to cry out to me told me off for being such an irresponsible person.

This is the reason why I have never taken my bike since that terrible day.